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- Джек Лондон
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- Мартин Иден
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- Стр. 62/241
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"
But
it
seems
to
me
you
lose
sight
of
beauty
by
being
so
practical
,
that
you
destroy
beauty
like
the
boys
who
catch
butterflies
and
rub
the
down
off
their
beautiful
wings
.
"
He
shook
his
head
.
"
Beauty
has
significance
,
but
I
never
knew
its
significance
before
.
I
just
accepted
beauty
as
something
meaningless
,
as
something
that
was
just
beautiful
without
rhyme
or
reason
.
I
did
not
know
anything
about
beauty
.
But
now
I
know
,
or
,
rather
,
am
just
beginning
to
know
.
This
grass
is
more
beautiful
to
me
now
that
I
know
why
it
is
grass
,
and
all
the
hidden
chemistry
of
sun
and
rain
and
earth
that
makes
it
become
grass
.
Why
,
there
is
romance
in
the
life
-
history
of
any
grass
,
yes
,
and
adventure
,
too
.
The
very
thought
of
it
stirs
me
.
When
I
think
of
the
play
of
force
and
matter
,
and
all
the
tremendous
struggle
of
it
,
I
feel
as
if
I
could
write
an
epic
on
the
grass
.
"
How
well
you
talk
,
"
she
said
absently
,
and
he
noted
that
she
was
looking
at
him
in
a
searching
way
.
He
was
all
confusion
and
embarrassment
on
the
instant
,
the
blood
flushing
red
on
his
neck
and
brow
.
"
I
hope
I
am
learning
to
talk
,
"
he
stammered
.
"
There
seems
to
be
so
much
in
me
I
want
to
say
.
But
it
is
all
so
big
.
I
can
’
t
find
ways
to
say
what
is
really
in
me
.
Sometimes
it
seems
to
me
that
all
the
world
,
all
life
,
everything
,
had
taken
up
residence
inside
of
me
and
was
clamoring
for
me
to
be
the
spokesman
.
I
feel
—
oh
,
I
can
’
t
describe
it
—
I
feel
the
bigness
of
it
,
but
when
I
speak
,
I
babble
like
a
little
child
.
It
is
a
great
task
to
transmute
feeling
and
sensation
into
speech
,
written
or
spoken
,
that
will
,
in
turn
,
in
him
who
reads
or
listens
,
transmute
itself
back
into
the
selfsame
feeling
and
sensation
.
It
is
a
lordly
task
.
See
,
I
bury
my
face
in
the
grass
,
and
the
breath
I
draw
in
through
my
nostrils
sets
me
quivering
with
a
thousand
thoughts
and
fancies
.
It
is
a
breath
of
the
universe
I
have
breathed
.
I
know
song
and
laughter
,
and
success
and
pain
,
and
struggle
and
death
;
and
I
see
visions
that
arise
in
my
brain
somehow
out
of
the
scent
of
the
grass
,
and
I
would
like
to
tell
them
to
you
,
to
the
world
.
But
how
can
I
?
My
tongue
is
tied
.
I
have
tried
,
by
the
spoken
word
,
just
now
,
to
describe
to
you
the
effect
on
me
of
the
scent
of
the
grass
.
But
I
have
not
succeeded
.
I
have
no
more
than
hinted
in
awkward
speech
.
My
words
seem
gibberish
to
me
.
And
yet
I
am
stifled
with
desire
to
tell
.
Oh
!
—
"
he
threw
up
his
hands
with
a
despairing
gesture
—
"
it
is
impossible
!
It
is
not
understandable
!
It
is
incommunicable
!
"
"
But
you
do
talk
well
,
"
she
insisted
.
"
Just
think
how
you
have
improved
in
the
short
time
I
have
known
you
.
Mr
.
Butler
is
a
noted
public
speaker
.
He
is
always
asked
by
the
State
Committee
to
go
out
on
stump
during
campaign
.
Yet
you
talked
just
as
well
as
he
the
other
night
at
dinner
.
Only
he
was
more
controlled
.
You
get
too
excited
;
but
you
will
get
over
that
with
practice
.
Why
,
you
would
make
a
good
public
speaker
.
You
can
go
far
—
if
you
want
to
.
You
are
masterly
.
You
can
lead
men
,
I
am
sure
,
and
there
is
no
reason
why
you
should
not
succeed
at
anything
you
set
your
hand
to
,
just
as
you
have
succeeded
with
grammar
.
You
would
make
a
good
lawyer
.
You
should
shine
in
politics
.
There
is
nothing
to
prevent
you
from
making
as
great
a
success
as
Mr
.
Butler
has
made
.
And
minus
the
dyspepsia
,
"
she
added
with
a
smile
.
They
talked
on
;
she
,
in
her
gently
persistent
way
,
returning
always
to
the
need
of
thorough
grounding
in
education
and
to
the
advantages
of
Latin
as
part
of
the
foundation
for
any
career
.
She
drew
her
ideal
of
the
successful
man
,
and
it
was
largely
in
her
father
’
s
image
,
with
a
few
unmistakable
lines
and
touches
of
color
from
the
image
of
Mr
.
Butler
.
He
listened
eagerly
,
with
receptive
ears
,
lying
on
his
back
and
looking
up
and
joying
in
each
movement
of
her
lips
as
she
talked
.
But
his
brain
was
not
receptive
.
There
was
nothing
alluring
in
the
pictures
she
drew
,
and
he
was
aware
of
a
dull
pain
of
disappointment
and
of
a
sharper
ache
of
love
for
her
.
In
all
she
said
there
was
no
mention
of
his
writing
,
and
the
manuscripts
he
had
brought
to
read
lay
neglected
on
the
ground
.
At
last
,
in
a
pause
,
he
glanced
at
the
sun
,
measured
its
height
above
the
horizon
,
and
suggested
his
manuscripts
by
picking
them
up
.
"
I
had
forgotten
,
"
she
said
quickly
.
"
And
I
am
so
anxious
to
hear
.
"
